


inner monologue, part one

by sapphirestylan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/pseuds/sapphirestylan
Summary: based on three songs off julia michael's EP.





	1. into you

**Author's Note:**

> (originally posted on tumblr) this is basically just a collection of very short pieces based on some of the songs off julia michael's album 'inner monologue part one.'

Niall’s not  _ avoiding  _ him, necessarily. He’s not. 

Yeah, sure, maybe he was invited to little Ruby’s birthday party, maybe he asked if Harry was going to be there, said he’d try his best to make it, and then purposely arranged his schedule so that it would be impossible. Maybe every time there’s a party and he hears Harry’s going, he declines. Maybe he didn’t pick up any of Harry’s calls when they were both in LA or answer his stupid polite texts and then pretended he wasn’t home every time he heard his doorbell ring. And it’s ridiculously pathetic, going this far out of his way to not see him. Especially when that’s what he wants. Especially when he misses him so much, when he spends some nights replaying his favorite memories over and over, analyzing and re-analyzing every second until his chest hurts. 

But it’s a prevention thing, at the end of the day. Because he knows, deep down, that the second he gets near Harry the floodgate will open and everything-  _ everything,  _ every memory, every feeling, every hope associated with him- will rush to the forefront of his mind, and he’ll do something stupid that both of them will regret. If he ever gets alone with him- if they ever get to talking, it’ll be too late by then. Niall will forget all the heartbreak and the tears he wasted on him, and it’ll be back to being best friends. Next step is being back to lovers, and God knows they’ll make that jump far too fast. God knows Niall will be back to being in love with him. 

As if he’s not still.


	2. apple

Rio, 2014. 

Niall leans back in the heat-sticky plastic chair and watches through a faint haze of alcohol as Harry does another backflip in the shallow end of the pool, wet t-shirt clinging to the lines of his body. It’s about time to stop Harry’s supply of drinks, because he’ll end up hurting himself at this rate- but then he turns to face him and makes a silly face and he forgets about it.

“You should come in,” Harry calls. “Water’s nice.” 

“You should take your shirt off,” Niall says back, and shit, he didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but he’s pretty sure it’s vintage something or the other and he knows Harry will get all grumpy when he’s sober if it’s ruined. But Harry waggles his eyebrows at him anyways, the idiot. 

“What was that, Niall? You want me to strip?” 

“Spare the innocent eyes around you,” Niall snorts. “Please don’t remove any articles of clothing. ‘Cept your shirt, you’re gonna ruin it with the chlorine and shit.” 

“That’s not a thing,” Harry grumbles, but peels it off anyways, excruciatingly slowly, before chucking it to Niall, who catches it deftly. 

“Can you throw me my hat?” 

“What?” 

“I wanna see if it floats.” 

He’s done stupider things than enable Harry’s curiosities, has the love bite on his thigh to prove it, so he grabs the hat and flings it to him. As it turns out, it (obviously) floats, and Harry’s kept entertained for all of six minutes before he’s wading out of the pool to bother him again. 

“Niall,” Harry says lowly, standing over him. His hair is dripping water onto Niall’s bare chest. 

“Harry,” Niall replies evenly. 

“We should go up to the room, I think.” 

“Do you?” Niall arches his eyebrows, staring at Harry through his sunglasses. 

“Yeah.” 

Niall keeps his beer in hand as they trudge back inside the air-conditioned hotel, neck already prickling with the beginning of a sunburn. Harry manages to keep his hands off him until they’re in the safety of the elevator, which is commendable, and even then he can’t do much more than throw an arm around Niall’s shoulder and play with the edge of his sleeve, fingertips brushing against his skin. They learned the hard way that cameras are everywhere, including elevators. 

That changes when they get inside the room, though- Harry practically shoves them inside after Niall fumbles with the keycard, and then he’s all over him- hands running everywhere, mouth attached to his neck, walking him backwards until they hit the bed and flop over, wet clothes and all. 

“You such a bloody tease, you know that?” Niall mutters, flipping them over and leaving a trail of kisses down the line of Harry’s throat. “Fucking parading around in the pool in that stupid shirt and those stupid shorts.” 

“Ah, so it worked,” Harry hums, smiling. “Knew it would.” 

“Shut up,” Niall says, and when Harry doesn’t, sinks lower, yanks his shorts down, and gets his mouth around him. It seems to do the trick. 


	3. what a time

_ i guess i need you close by _

Here they are: 18, wrestling around on the floor of the tour bus, boyishly innocent laughter filling the air. Harry’s hair winds up in Niall’s mouth, he spits it out, pretending to choke; Harry plays along, twisting over him and feigning giving him CPR even though that wouldn’t help. Niall laughs so hard his ribs ache and accidentally knees Harry in the butt. Harry acts like he broke his tailbone with the way he hisses and demands an ice pack, forcing Niall to get it for him, but he doesn’t mind doing it, anyway. That night, they sleep in the same bunk, even though it’s a tight fit, legs tangled together and Harry’s back pressed to Niall’s front. Harry stays awake for a while, Niall’s breath fanning gently against the nape of his neck while they speed over miles of flat land in the middle of nowhere, USA. It’s kind of sweaty, kind of hot, kind of stuffy. Too close, just right. 

_ like you wanted it forever _

20, now. Splayed out on the hotel bed, sweaty and spent.  _ We should take a shower _ , Niall murmurs into the quiet air. Harry mumbles something back into the feverishly hot skin of his shoulder, squeezing Niall’s hip where he’s got his hand resting there. _ I can’t hear you, _ Niall whispers. Harry doesn’t say anything, just snakes his hand down lower, lower until Niall’s breath hitches.  _ Again?  _ Niall groans, but feels the jump of excitement in the pit of his stomach anyways.  _ Again.  _

_ my mind just leaves out all the bad parts _

Late 2014, just before they leave for Christmas hols, and Harry suggests splitting up the band. They get in a screaming match, he and Niall. Niall can’t see why, doesn’t understand why they need a break. Harry claims it’s better long term, but all Niall can hear is Harry saying  _ i don’t want  _ you _ anymore, i don’t need  _ you _ anymore, i’m tired of  _ you _.  _ Harry spewing lines about needing to breathe, needing to find himself, needing to take a break from the rush.  _ I need  _ you _ ,  _ Niall wants to say, and doesn’t.  _ That’s what  _ I _ need. That’s all I need.  _ Go fuck yourself, he says instead, and that’s the last they see of each other for weeks. It’s the worst he’s ever felt in his life, he thinks, the most alone he’s ever been. 

_ we stayed up for hours _

They’re sitting on the rooftop, wind screaming this far up, tearing at their clothes and their hair. They don’t talk, because any words would be lost in the breeze. They sit, side by side, silhouetted by the full moon and the dull pinpricks of stars they can barely see because of the glittering city lights below. They hold hands, just because they can, and they kiss, and they stay quiet. The band is ending, their last performance is tomorrow, and Niall’s okay with it, now.  _ Our last hoorah, sort of,  _ Harry had suggested as he pushed Niall up against the wall earlier, hands all over his skin, but it was never a question. Harry could storm back into his life decades from now, Niall thinks, and there would still be a  _ yes _ on the tip of his tongue. 

_ what a lie, what a lie, what a lie _

Here he is: sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, the shirt Harry left behind in his hands while he tries not to cry, and failing at it. Because Harry’s left him. Because he’s jetted off across the globe and left him  _ behind _ with no note, no call, no explanation, and it hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before. Some part of him had known that this was inevitable, but- the bigger part loved Harry too much to ever believe he would do this to him. Leave him like this. And now he’s here, proven sorely, sorely wrong, and all he wants is to take it back. He wants to take it all back. 

**_What a time, what a time, for you and I._ **


End file.
